Chronic Kisses
by SophieRomanoff
Summary: AU Natasha is living with a chronic illness with her boyfriend and best friend, Clint. Constantly in pain, Natasha struggles to deal with the limitations she now faces. When they meet a man, fresh from the army, who knocks their world of kilter, it would be rude to not ask him out for a drink, right? {Complete AU, I suck at summaries but maybe give it a chance?} Follow for more!
1. Lucky the pizza dog and matchmaker

Natasha hated doctor offices.

She hated how much time she spent in them.

She hated how every time she came in, she would leave with more questions, more confusion and more prescriptions.

But never answers.

Because there were no answers.

No cure, nothing to fix what was happening to her. Trying to manage symptoms and taking an abundance of pills were pretty much the only options. This was something that, no matter how well she was doing, would most likely always be there.

So yeah, she hated doctor offices; because every time she sat down, every time she stared at the same old fliers on the walls, every time she jarred her back in the plastic chairs, she would be reminded that this was her life now.

She also hated the way people looked at her whilst there.

Especially on her bad days, when she needed her walking stick and Lucky, the gorgeously gross golden retriever dog Clint had found her.

On very bad days, she would limp or shuffle with every painful step to her seat, her joints on fire and her legs burning from the short walk from the car.

On these days, she got mainly pity eyes and sympathetic smiles from people in the waiting room.

She hated those looks the most.

She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her, didn't want people to tread carefully around her like she would break.

It was hard when she was the same fierce, headstrong Natasha that had lived through and survived so much, on the inside.

It was hard when her outside felt so different.

When her body felt new and foreign and altogether alien.

Her insides didn't match the outside anymore.

But realistically, her body didn't look all that different, not to strangers, not to people she passed once or twice on the street.

Her 'illness' in fact, was something that a lot of people, including some doctors, didn't even really believe was real.

There were really no outward signs to prove it.

There were no specific tests to diagnose it; just tests to rule out other things.

People called it a mental disorder; severe depression or Munchausen's or psychosis.

But Natasha knew depression and psychosis and this was not it.

She'd been feeling mentally the best she had in years when the physical symptoms started to floor her.

She'd been self-harm free for almost two years, had finished therapy, was working steadily at a job she adored and was months away from moving in with the love of her life.

The suicidal thoughts hadn't come for almost a year and she planned happily for the future, for her life with Clint.

She looked forward to living every day.

Then the physical symptoms had really kicked in and she'd had to give up her job, stay at home whilst Clint packed all her stuff a month before schedule and planned for the move, still working nights every single day.

The first doctor she'd seen had said her depression was back and that they should up or change her anti-depressant.

Natasha had tried to explain how she'd been in a good place, how the depression this time around had been caused by the physical problems, not vice versa.

The doctor had insisted her depression had manifested itself into psychosomatic pain and that maybe she believed the pain was real, maybe she believed something physical was wrong so she didn't have to explain that her depression was getting bad again.

It was beyond humiliating.

Natasha had tried again, in tears, to explain that depression made you feel like you didn't want to get out of bed.

Whatever was happening to her made it physically impossible to open her eyes, to move her limbs or get up.

She'd seen the disbelief in his eyes and had stormed out of there, desperately trying to not break down, her mind right back there in that bad place.

When she'd gotten home, she'd rushed straight into Clint's arms and sobbed softly for almost half an hour.

After that, she'd called the doctors' office, told them to delete her file from the system, and had found a new place to go.

So actually, maybe it wasn't the pity she hated the most.

Maybe it was the pure disbelief.

The 'how could this young woman who looks just fine need a service dog or a walking aid?'.

The 'she must be using them to get benefits, to get out of work'.

The 'she must be an attention seeker to use those in public'.

Yup, those were the worst looks.

…

Natasha turned in the tacky bright white chair, her knees sliding to just touch Clint's from where he sat beside her.

His soft blue eyes met her gaze and he shuffled closer, hand settling on her knee and squeezing once.

She offered a watery smile, face drawn and pale, brows furrowed in either pain or unease.

Clint realised a second later it was a little bit of both.

He looked over her shoulder, finding a man sitting in the corner, reading a newspaper but looking over the top of it to watch Natasha's movements.

The man had a cast around his foot and ankle and Clint could almost read his thoughts.

Natasha was wearing jeans and combat boots on her feet; she had no bandages or casts or anything like that she why was using a walking stick?

Clint narrowed his gaze at the man, one eyebrow raised.

The man looked down immediately and Clint moved his attention back to his girlfriend

He slid the arm closest to her around her shoulders, fingers brushing her arm.

Natasha exhaled and leaned just a little into the touch.

The blonde muttered a soft command and Lucky, curled up on the floor in between their feet, stood and shook himself out.

He butted his head up against Natasha's hand and when she failed to respond, licked her fingers until she scratched the top of his head.

A little more of the tension in her shoulders escaped as she carefully adjusted the bandana around his neck. It was worn only when they left the house and proclaimed that he was a service dog and that strangers should ask before petting him.

It didn't actually stop people from calling to him and stroking him as they passed but it seemed to deter the more courteous members of the public.

"Not long now, Nat." Clint murmured, fingers rubbing up and down her spine.

He knew the shitty ass plastic chairs always hurt her back even more.

"Then we can go home?" Natasha asked, voice soft.

He brushed a strand of red hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.

"Yes, love, then we can go home." He assured, hand sliding from her face to rest at the bottom of her back.

It was likely to be of no help but Natasha insisted that Clint ran hotter than most people, so if nothing else, his warm hand could soothe some of the ache, even if just a little.

A few minutes later, Natasha's name flashed on the board and she shakily got to her feet.

Clint stayed at her side, there if she needed him, but always giving her the choice to ask for help if she needed/wanted it.

Natasha clicked her tongue against her teeth and as she started walking, Lucky pushed his nose up into her free hand, dutifully following her to the doctors' room.

She sat down nearest the table, Clint beside her.

She quietly said hello, reaching for Clint's hand.

He gently squeezed her fingers, intertwining them.

"So, Natasha, tell me what I can do for you." Doctor Watson looked up from his notes.

"Well…I know you said this…illness would have its bad patches but it's getting beyond that now."

She shifted in her seat, silent for a moment as she tried to quickly form the words she wanted to say without spewing absolute nonsense.

She sighed softly, her gaze very firmly on her and Clint's interlocked hands.

"Well…" Natasha said quietly, "I wake up in pain, still exhausted. It takes me an hour to get out of bed and I go through my day in pain and exhausted, and I fall asleep in pain. But I'm lucky if I sleep through the night, no matter how tired I am."

Her eyebrows knitted together and she took a shaky breath.

"This is the first time I've left the house in over a week. It seems impossible to do anything but sleep or maybe watch TV if I can get out of bed at all. I tried the rebounding, the exercise but I couldn't move at all after, and the pain was worse."

Clint rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand, a soft reassurance that she wasn't alone, and also that he was proud of her for telling the doctor how she really felt.

"Look, there has to be something, anything. I literally can't live like this-" Her breathing hitched and she swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. She dragged her gaze from their hands and looked up.

Doctor Watson nodded. "There are always more medications we can try, pain wise, if your others aren't effective." He did look genuinely sorry to be saying what he was.

"But you know, Natasha, that chronic fatigue syndrome doesn't have a cure. We can change your meds, look into more alternative therapies, try to at least get your pain under control. I'm sorry, I wish I had answers for you, I really do. At the minute, there just aren't any I can offer."

Natasha found herself inexplicably teary-eyed and she hastily wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.

"I can't live like this. I don't have a life, or a job or anything I used to have. Clint doesn't have a life now because of it and it's not fair to him. It's not fair to me." She shook her head, cheeks flushing a little with embarrassment.

"Natasha," Doctor Watson said carefully, putting the notes down and clasping his hands together, "are you experiencing suicidal thoughts?"

Natasha swallowed and dropped her gaze once more, shame creeping up her neck, replacing the embarrassment.

Clint pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand, catching her gaze as he ducked his head into her line of view.

"You can tell him, Nat, he can help." He murmured softly.

Natasha set her jaw and looked up at the doctor, fire in her eyes.

"Wouldn't you? Holed up in your house, a slave to your own body? Using the person you love the most as what? Some sort of carer? Always in pain, unable to do the things I want to. I had an amazing job, I had a life and it was a pretty fucking good one. I fought for that life with everything I had. And now? It's gone."

Natasha was about 95% certain she would never actively try to kill herself, but the thoughts remained.

And days like today, they were hard to ignore.

Doctor Watson sat forward a little. "I'm not going to belittle you by saying I understand. But I am going to write a referral letter to mental health services. I think it could be beneficial if you went to an appointment with them."

"Therapy? Again?" Natasha raised an eyebrow, eyes darkening. "You think therapy will fix my body being broken? Like I haven't had my fill of doctors telling me it's all in my head."

"I'm not saying that at all." Doctor Watson's voice remained gentle as he explained. "I in no way believe this illness is in your head, for a start, Natasha. I'm saying that maybe a targeted therapy could help with the mood and depression problems you've been experiencing. Maybe you can learn to understand the drops in mood, and how it correlates with a bad patch. Then you can be mentally better prepared and equipped to deal with the drops."

Beside her, Clint squeezed her hand once more, but stayed quiet. He'd seen first-hand how therapy had helped her before but also knew how loath she was to repeat the experience.

There was simply no pushing Natasha, but she knew Clint would be there no matter her decision. She was strong willed and could do as she pleased.

Almost a minute passed in silence.

Natasha had her head low, her free hand rubbing at her forehead. She wasn't crying anymore but was shaking softly.

Clint calmly moved his hand, light fingers stroking the nape of her neck.

"Lucky." He clicked his tongue and the dog sat up, uncaring about personal space as he shoved his head through the gap of her hair, leaning his face against her lap.

"Okay." Natasha said quietly, her hand on Lucky's head as she looked up. "Okay, fine."

…

They left the office with three things.

One, a prescription for a new painkiller, and another with a new anti-depressant.

Two, a card with her next appointment on, and a slip to hand in at the desk so she could book blood tests.

Three, a scrawled note with a number on; crisis services, should Natasha think she would harm herself.

They headed to the desk and once her blood tests were booked in, they started to head to the doors.

But Natasha stumbled a little, temporarily caught off balance.

Clint quickly reached for her, arm winding around her waist. He gently guided her to the nearest wall.

"You okay?" He asked, thumb stroking over the apple of her cheek.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." The redhead nodded, sighing and tipping her head back against the wall for a moment as she got a better grip on her walking stick.

They'd been at the wall for barely twenty seconds but that had been all it had taken for Lucky to sneak off out the exit.

Barking came from outside and Clint cursed. "Blood animal." He muttered, not actually mad at the furball.

He called for the dog and when he didn't come immediately, Natasha groaned.

She pushed herself from the wall and followed Clint as quickly as she could out the door.

They found Lucky immediately.

He was rolling on the floor, playing with a gorgeous dark brown Labrador, with an even more gorgeous man standing behind him.

Clint called for Lucky and the dog flipped over onto his stomach, happily bounding over to his owners.

The stranger tried to call for his dog, but he was having no one of it as the man tapped his thigh, trying to urge the dog over.

Both Natasha and Clint caught sight of the mans' hand at the same time.

It had seemed real at first glance and was obviously a very good prosthetic, an almost perfect colour match to the tanned skin tone of the man. But it was a prosthetic nonetheless and they had no idea how far it carried on because the stranger was wearing a long sleeved red shirt.

And damn did it fit him well.

Natasha pulled her gaze from the man, fiddling with the strap attached to her walking stick.

He was tall, taller than Clint, which was feat in of itself.

He had long dark brown hair, much like his canine counterpart, and it may have even been longer than Natasha's. It was tied up into a loose bun but some strands had slipped out and curled in front of his face.

And what a gorgeous face; all cheekbones and a jawline that threatened to cut anyone who touched it, hidden just slightly by the five o'clock shadow shading it.

His eyes were a stunning shade of blue, kind of like Clint's, but even lighter, and they sparkled as a flush rose over his cheeks. He pulled a treat from his pocket, kneeling to try and coax the dog over.

"Bear, c'mon." He sighed.

Bear barked playfully, but bounded over after a moment to devour this treat.

The man stood, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry about him. I've only had him for a couple of weeks." The man still looked embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck like a child getting scolded.

Clint chuckled, nodding. "Don't worry, man. Trust us, we know. We got Lucky when he was two and he'd never been trained at all. He was, and still is, a menace."

Lucky yipped and licked Clint's fingers, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Bear was a gift from a friend, supposed to become my service dog but I've never had a dog in my life. He needs to be well trained but…I'm apparently not very good at it." He shrugged.

Natasha smiled at him. "Hey, if you want, I have the number of a really good dog trainer. She helped train Lucky and he was quite the handful. She's local too."

The man smiled, dimples and teeth showing. "Yeah? That would be great."

Natasha pulled a pen and paper from her purse, quickly writing down the number and the womans' name before handing it over.

He smiled again, sliding the note into his pocket.

"Thank you…?"

"Natasha." She hummed, holding out her left hand so Bucky could shake with his right.

"And?" The mans' gaze shifted as he dropped her hand and took the other mans.

"Clint. And you are?" The blonde shook his hand, smiling wryly.

"Bucky. Well, James, but no one calls me James. My middle…uh, my middle name is Buchanan and I'm now realising that doesn't exactly shorten to Bucky but yeah…Bucky."

Natasha grinned and Clint stifled a chuckle.

"Well, Bucky, it was nice to meet you." He said kindly, meaning it.

"You too, thanks for the number." Bucky's gaze lingered on Clint just a little longer before the man ducked his head shyly and nodded, calling Bear as he headed inside.

Clint turned to Natasha, a twinkle in his eyes.

Natasha grinned and both their gazes flitted back to the handsome stranger, finding a seat in the waiting room.

"He was…" Natasha trailed off, shaking her head.

"Gorgeous?" Clint supplied, grinning. "Yup."

"He fancied the shit outta you." The redhead chuckled.

"Not just me." Clint hummed, sliding an arm around her waist. "He couldn't even speak after you shook his hand. Not that I blame him, you are exceptionally beautiful."

Natasha rolled her eyes but leaned in for a quick kiss.

"I guess it's lucky that the dog trainer happens to be one of our closest friends, should we want to see him again." Natasha beamed, looking positively angelic.

Clint laughed. "Why, Natasha, were you using our dear friend as an excuse to get to know mystery man?"

Natasha only hummed, smiling back in response.

"I guess I better tell Wanda to expect a phone call." Clint murmured, smile wide.

"I guess you should." Natasha leaned her head in, resting against Clint's shoulder for a moment. "Home?"

"Anything for you, love."


	2. hazy days and spoons

The next week passed in a blur.

The painkillers and new anti-depressant left Natasha floating and dazed most of the time.

Where she could at least watch TV before, she could barely hold onto one train of thought without the brain fog taking over. It was like her thoughts slipped away from her, often before she had even had the opportunity to speak them.

It was beyond frustrating and not just for her. Clint would talk and most times, she would have something to say, anything to say so he wasn't just speaking to thin air but then her mind would go fuzzy and static-y and her lips would fumble and nothing remotely intelligible would leave her mouth.

That would result in more frustration on her end, her hands sliding into her hair as she tried to recall what she had been thinking off just a moment before.

Tears would likely come, and she couldn't even explain why she was crying, why she was upset.

She couldn't explain that her brain was addled and she hated how she couldn't hold a conversation like a normal human being.

That she wanted to tell Clint how much she appreciated him being there, that without him she would spiral even more.

That she wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she wanted to simply ask for a drink or to turn the TV channel over, or that she just wanted a fucking cuddle.

Clint was amazing but he wasn't a mind reader.

He'd learned to read her body language remarkably well however, and if it was something simple she wanted, he could nine times out of ten understand by hand gestures and garbled words alone.

For instance, she would point at whatever she was trying to say. So she would point at the door to the en-suite and he would ask a couple of questions. Did she need help to the toilet? Did she need a cold cloth? Did she want some water? Then she would nod or shake her head.

If she was in more pain than usual in one spot she would point at the area of her body and Clint would fetch ice/heat packs, more painkillers, and would if he could, rub at the spot that hurt until her muscles loosened.

Cuddles were easy, she would shuffle in her seat and lean in and Clint would wrap his arms around her, helping her nestle into his side.

Other things were more difficult to understand.

For example, if she felt sick but couldn't get the words out, it could quite possibly end in disaster.

She would try to crawl to the side of the bed but that was the only warning he had, so Clint had taken to leaving empty trashcans by the bed in case she couldn't warn him in time.

It embarrassed Natasha immensely.

She wasn't a sixteen year old getting drunk for the first time, she should be able to not just throw up unexpectedly. Should be able to at least run to the bathroom and not need to rely on Clint understanding what she meant with her movements.

The nausea had been awful those first few days after starting the meds, and she would lay close to the edge of the bed so she could easily shuffle her head over to throw up.

It had calmed down a little after three or so days but the trash cans were still there, just in case.

She slept a lot, but it was never restful sleep.

She went to bed at a relatively normal time, but was lucky to sleep through a couple of hours into the night.

She would wake constantly, sweating and caught in the sheets, dazed and sometimes unsure of where she even was.

For a good few hours then, she would curl up and watch Clint sleep or close her eyes and try to will sleep to come.

She tried her hardest to not wake Clint, but sometimes with her moving and rolling over it was inevitable.

He would tiredly roll closer, arm over her waist or his hand running through her red hair.

He would whisper soft words to her, most of the time just repeating that he loved her over and over until one of them fell asleep.

He was never annoyed, and hardly ever grouchy when she woke him. And if he was grouchy, he would apologise in the morning.

He never meant to sound annoyed or mad at her, but sometimes couldn't help it. Natasha understood and would have been more upset if he acted like he was fine with it all the time.

But it didn't seem to matter how much or little she slept, didn't matter if she had ten hours of sleep or three, she woke up bone tired and exhausted.

Some mornings it was impossible to open her eyes or move to go to the bathroom or just to sit up.

Those mornings were crushing and panic filled, because not being able to open your eyes for a time was downright terrifying.

She was constantly worrying what would happen if she could never open her eyes again, if she could never move again and was to spend the rest of her life in that bed.

But eventually she would be able to open her eyes and sit up against the headboard.

Those mornings she would cry even more.

The terror of not being able to move would have passed but new terrors remained.

Thoughts of being useless and Clint leaving her would fill her mind until all she could do was try to breathe.

She had relied on Clint for a little over seven months now, for many aspects of her life.

She worried that soon would come the day where Clint would have had enough and would leave.

That he was sick of being in such a one sided relationship where her boyfriend had to help her do the most embarrassing of things like help her change or empty the trash can when she was sick.

That he would realise he didn't want to live like that anymore, that he was tired of being dragged down by her.

That he would find someone else, someone healthy, someone able to give him the love he deserved.

Someone who didn't rely so heavily on him.

Someone who could work a job and bring money in.

Someone who could take him on dates, sit across from him at the dinner table and hold his hand and chat easily about life, without being in pain, without messing up every sentence.

Someone who could make love to him, could make him feel like the most special guy in the world.

Someone who didn't use him as a carer.

Someone who could share the work load, help clean the house and make the bed and take the pets for a walk.

Someone who wasn't in pain and depressed and thought too often of self-harming or suicide.

Someone who deserved him.

But Clint, amazing and brilliant Clint would hold her and soothe her worries away with whispered proclamations of love and soft kisses.

He was her only rock, grounding her to the real world.

He was the sweetest with her, still funny and charming, but now just even more gentle.

He cooked her food, made her tea, held her in his arms, spoke to her when she couldn't summon the energy to speak herself.

Was never frustrated when she couldn't hold a conversation, but still never spoke at her, still with her, and it made all the difference sometimes.

He held her hair as she threw up, rubbing up and down her back and helping her drink a glass of water after. He would tidy the trash can away with no fuss, clean it, and put it back in its spot.

He soothed her brow when she got too warm or her headaches struck, his touches were especially light and soft during these times. A gentle brush of her hair, or reassuring hand against her back.

He would dutifully go and wet the cloth again when it got warm, would turn all the lights off and close the curtains when it set off her migraines. He was fine in the dark, holding her or letting her rest as he did other things.

He helped her eat when her hands failed, ordering in her favourite food or making a meal from scratch. He would hold the bowl or plate if it was too heavy and very occasionally, he would help her lift the form or spoon to her mouth. He was patient, even though it could take an hour or so for her to eat one meal.

He made sure she was drinking water or juice, anything so she didn't end up in hospital dehydrated again. Even when he was pottering around the house, he would come in with constant cups of tea and re-filled bottles of water with lemon or fresh fruit. Even when he was out of the house, he would leave her with bottles and cups, more than enough until he came home.

His hands rubbed her back, her neck, her shoulders, sliding over her skin to try and help the aching and stabbing of her muscles. He'd learned basic massage techniques and would buy bottles of scented oils and warm it in his hands before gently easing the tension out of her body.

Sometimes, if Natasha felt okay and wanted to, the massage could turn into something more. But he never pushed, never expected, was content to wash off the oil and climb in beside her, cuddling her close.

When she had a little more energy, they would watch shows and movies either in the lounge or on Clint's tablet. If she was very fuzzy-headed, they would watch things they'd already seen a bunch of times so there was no pressure to follow a new story line.

Distraction could be a very useful thing so if Natasha was caught in her head, they would get her crafting stuff out and spread it over the bed. If her hands were feeling okay, if she could grip smaller items, she would colour or knit or carry on with something new she'd picked up, like scrapbooking.

To some people, the things she did would seem childish or boring or even lame, but Clint never made fun of her, and if it made Natasha happy, it made Clint happy.

If her hands didn't work, he would maybe get out his guitar. He wrote songs, sometimes just the guitar, sometimes with words. He would sing softly, a concentrated smile on his face, his gaze lifting from his hands on the guitar to sing directly at Natasha.

They were some of her favourite moments.

No pain, no bad thoughts, just her boyfriend singing for her.

It was made even more special by the fact that was how they met.

 _One night, Natasha sitting at the bar, Clint on the small stage with his guitar, a lot of tequila shots and Natasha losing her shoes lead to something Natasha never dared dream would happen._

…

The week had not been easy, for either her or Clint but the eighth morning dawned and Natasha woke a little brighter.

She could open her eyes as soon as she woke and it took only a couple of minutes for her to sit up and push the covers off herself.

 _Thank fuck for that._

Natasha could tell as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, that she had a couple more spoons than the previous day.

She pulled the note from the pillow beside her.

'Went to the store, I'll be back soon. Love you. Ps, Wanda left a message!' with an insane amount of winky faces around the page.

Natasha chuckled and smiled, warmth filling her chest.

It may have been a simple note but it was more than that to her.

It was Clint listening and knowing her anxieties and worries. It wasn't just him letting her know where he'd gone, but him letting her know he was coming back.

Natasha stood, and knowing this energy wouldn't last, she went around and did the things everyone else took for granted.

She first padded to the bathroom, turning the shower on hot and settling the shower bench across the bath.

As the room got all steamy, just the way Natasha liked it, she pulled off her clothes, nose wrinkling.

She hadn't changed in almost a week and felt more than disgusting.

 _God, I'm fucking gross. Why the hell does Clint even stay with me? I can't even shower or get dressed like a normal person._

 _Fucking pathetic, Natasha, you're literally the most pathetic person ever._

Sighing, Natasha placed her clothes in the hamper and climbed into the shower, settling on the bench under the spray of water.

She exhaled shakily, reaching for the bottles lining the tub.

After carefully scrubbing at her face and body with soap, she took a breath and sat under the water for a couple of minutes before she was ready to move on.

She washed her hair next; lathering the shampoo into her hair and waiting for another few minutes before washing it out.

She turned the water off and slowly lifted her legs out of the bath and stepped onto the mat.

Wrapping the towel around herself, she took the opportunity to brush her teeth so she didn't have to come back in.

She could feel the odd sensation in her gums and just knew that later her teeth were going to hurt like a bitch.

The random fucking pains were the worst.

Natasha moved to the bedroom, hanging the towel up to dry before climbing into some yoga shorts and one of Clint's oversized band shirts. She grabbed a book off the nightstand, and her hairbrush.

She walked around the kitchen next, brushing out her hair after flicking the kettle on to boil.

Taking a protein bar from the cupboard, she ate quickly, not wanting it but knowing she needed to eat so she could take her meds.

Throwing the wrapper away, she shook the morning meds from the container and held them in her palm as she turned to the kettle.

Pouring the hot water over the green tea bag, she carefully picked it up and carried it over to the glass doors leading to the balcony.

Natasha stepped outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air, her first in over a week.

They had a couple of chairs out there, but Natasha preferred to spread the cushions and blankets from the basket just inside the doors over the floor instead.

One cushion behind her back against the wall, Natasha leaned back against it and sighed softly.

She pulled a blanket over her knees, taking a swig off too hot drink, tilting her head back as she swallowed the meds.

She cradled the warm drink in her hands, gaze on the horizon, and the stunning sight of the sun creeping up.

Natasha adored watching the sun rise; the colours, the quiet, the absolute feeling of peace that would wash over her.

Unfortunately, she rarely got to watch it anymore.

After watching the sun for another five minutes, Natasha smiled to herself and settled in for the morning.

…

Clint usually got up early a couple of mornings a week, so he could go to the store when Natasha would usually still be asleep.

But when Clint returned, Natasha was sitting on the balcony, spread across the floor, under a blanket as she read.

Clint stood watching her for a moment after he placed the shopping bags down.

The sun had come up and through the rays of yellow, Natasha's hair shined brilliantly, like fire burning on the horizon.

She took his breath away every single day of his life.

Clint moved a little closer to the glass, and Natasha still hadn't seen him.

She looked fully engrossed in her book, eyes fliting quickly down the pages before she would flick them over.

He hadn't seen her enjoy a book in…months? A year?

Her brows were pinched and her mouth opened with a soft pop as something happened in the story and Clint's heart hammered in his chest.

 _God she's beautiful._

 _And she's with me. How is that even possible?_

He hated to interrupt but he was just a little desperate to greet her.

She seemed happy but Clint also knew the floor, no matter how cushioned, would hurt her back if she stayed there for much longer.

He slid off his shoes and moved to the door, tapping it a couple of times so when he opened it, she wouldn't get scared.

"Hey, babe." Clint murmured, crouching down by her side and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her temple.

"Hey." Natasha smiled softly.

Her hair was still a little damp and Clint twirled a strand around his fingers.

"I know, I washed it." Natasha hummed. "I smell better now, huh?"

"You always smell incredible." Clint murmured, eyes sincere.

The redhead rolled her eyes fondly. "You're a liar, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Clint tutted and cupped her jaw in one hand, ducking his head to press a soft kiss to her lips. "I am not lying. I would never lie to you."

Natasha looked up, closing her book and leaning up from her seated position for another kiss, her hand sliding to the back of his head to bring his face closer.

A few moments passed before Natasha pulled back, her fingers lightly scratching his scalp.

"I feel good today." She said quietly, lightly biting her lip.

"I can see that, love, I didn't think you'd be up yet." Clint hummed, fingers brushing through her hair.

"No, Clint, I feel good today." She said pointedly, one eyebrow raising.

 _Oh damn._

Clint swallowed and moved till their faces were a few centimetres apart. He nipped at her bottom lip himself, arm winding around her, fingers spreading across the small of her back.

"Are you sure?" He asked, free hand reverently cupping her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek.

"Take me to bed, Clint." Natasha whispered, her eyes dark as she pushed up onto her knees, fingers gripping both his hair and the collar of his t-shirt.

Clint was more than happy to oblige.


	3. naps, a good boy, and tomato soup

Natasha rolled over on the bed, naked, grinning, and very tired.

Clint trailed warm fingers down her spine as she lay on her stomach, floating in that post sex, pre nap kinda place that she was familiar with.

It wasn't surprising that sex took it out of Natasha, it was after all, exercise. Enjoyable exercise, but it still put the strain on her body that taking a run would do.

It had taken them a very long time to get to where they were regarding the activity.

Years before the illness had even really surfaced, Natasha had been clear with Clint from the get go that sex wasn't super important to her.

From that first time they'd met and gotten suitably drunk together, Natasha had been very firm that she wasn't about to go back to his apartment for a 'good time'.

She'd had sex a handful of times during her life, and had never really enjoyed it much. But then again, that could have been the fact that a, she either didn't want the sex to occur but it had anyway or b, she'd done it to please someone who wanted it. She didn't really remember a time that she'd truly wanted to have sex and had done.

Well actually, that was a lie, she had once. Elena had been beautiful and charming and all-encompassing. Things had eventually splintered but they were still friends and spoke over the phone all the time.

As Natasha and Clint grew closer and eventually became a couple, sex had become a topic that needed discussing.

Natasha tried to explain how she felt about it, how she wasn't sure whether they would ever have sex, but she understood if Clint wanted what she didn't.

She told him very slowly about her past, and how she wasn't sure if that was why she didn't want to do these kinds of things, or if she was simply wired that way.

She told Clint that if he needed to have sex to be with her, that was fine, he could go and do whatever he wanted, as long as it was at the other persons apartment and not his.

Clint had told her that he didn't want to have sex with anyone else unless she was involved, and that he was more than happy to just see where things went with them.

A year of their relationship had flown by and Natasha had woken one morning, tangling bare legs into Clint's.

She'd looked at him as he'd slept, the blanket hanging low on his hips, his forehead smoothed out and his hair wild from the shuffling in the night.

She'd felt something she hadn't for a while.

That morning, heat in her stomach and fire in her veins, she'd kissed Clint awake.

That was how she'd realised that sex was a spectrum.

After that morning, Natasha had very much wanted to do it again that night.

About two months later, they'd brought someone new in, though never at their apartments, always at the other persons. But Maria was a close friend, and all three knew it was just sex. And it was great, it really was, but despite the fact they knew each other well, it wasn't making love. They would never have a relationship with the other woman, not like that.

Natasha would much rather make love.

And she loved Clint oh so much.

She wished she could control when the feelings would come because it felt an awful lot like whiplash sometimes.

They never knew when Natasha would feel like sex; they could go months without or could do it every day for weeks.

She was terrified it would scare Clint off, that he would grow tired of the yo-yo effect and move on. Despite what they'd discussed towards the start of their relationship, Clint hadn't had sex with anyone unless she was there, despite her assurances that it would be okay.

Clint rolled with it easily enough however and after whispered confessions and tears in the dark, he had very firmly told her that if she never wanted to have sex with him ever again, that would be okay. He didn't want to share that experience with anyone unless the love of his life was there.

He loved Natasha with every fibre in his being, and making love could be fantastic and magical and all those corny ass things, but it wasn't the be all and end all.

She was.

And now, with her illness crippling and debilitating as she swung through a violent low, sex hadn't been important.

It had been months since their last time.

Because if she was too tired to shower or eat or move, she was definitely too tired for sex.

The morning had been amazing and Clint and Natasha both had treasured it, because neither knew if or when it would happen again.

It had been wonderful, but now Natasha was plain exhausted and almost dozing as Clint went about tidying up.

He came from the en-suite with a warm cloth, kneeling on the bed next to Natasha and gently wiping sweat from flushed skin. He carefully wiped over her arms and stomach and legs, only very lightly touching, not wanting to aggravate her sensitive skin.

Once that was done, he helped Natasha sit up for a moment and slid clean underwear over her hips, and an old shirt over her head.

He pulled off the top blanket and threw it into the hamper to deal with later, pulling the duvet back and gently lifting and tucking Natasha underneath it.

She barely moved with him, just shifting a little to make it easier for him.

"Here." Clint murmured, pulling the covers up to her chin and kissing her forehead.

"Sleep, doll, I'll make us some food." He murmured and she was fast sleep before he'd even left the room.

Naps were very very important with chronic fatigue and it didn't matter if some doctors said it was counterproductive.

If someone was so bone tired they couldn't speak or swallow or open their eyes, meditating or exercising clearly wasn't going to help.

Natasha was never fully refreshed when she woke, but if naps could help her function a little better, then she was taking naps when she damn well pleased.

As she slept, Clint pulled on a shirt and sweatpants and padded around the apartment.

Lucky was sleeping too, obviously the trip to the store had worn him out, but most of the time he was also very quiet anyways.

He'd learned early on that Natasha didn't do well with loud or excitable so he had calmed down an awful lot from that two year old bundle of energy.

He only got very excited when meeting new dogs, like he had been at the doctors' office, but even then he would stop in an instant if Natasha needed him.

Lucky wasn't just there for a physical therapy animal, he was also there to help with some of the mental health issues they both suffered with.

Clint's social anxiety could come on suddenly and some days, he would be completely fine in public, with other people, but other times even going to the store could turn into a nightmare.

Lucky couldn't stop the panic attacks or fight or flight response, he wasn't magic, but he could calm his owner down and very quickly lead him outside and away from other people.

Natasha had PTSD, and because of that she had frequent panic attacks and flashbacks to the moments that triggered it all.

A common side effect of both PTSD and Chronic Fatigue was dissociation. That meant that sometimes Natasha would lose minutes or hours of time, and could wander around or do something potentially dangerous without even realising it.

Lucky was amazing with her, and would firmly plant himself on her feet or over her body so she couldn't move. He would bark at her and urge his face up to hers, using soft licks and noises by her ears to bring her back.

Failing that, he would simply follow her around and if worst came to worst and she got hurt or something bad happened, he knew to run to their bedroom and pad at the red button on the bedside table. It would send a message through to Clint's phone and he would come back immediately.

But thankfully, most of the time, the barking and laying on her worked.

She would absently stroke through his fur in a repetitive motion that was soothing to not only her, but Lucky too, and would usually come out of the episode a little confused and maybe having lost some time, but usually unharmed.

Depression was something both of them suffered with, and sometimes, just the reassurance that they had something that needed them, needed them to feed and walk and look after him, something that would be left alone if they went down the dark path their minds took them, was enough.

Waking up, stroking through soft fur and whispering things unsaid to the one of the only things that loved them unconditionally, sometimes that could mean the difference between something very bad occurring or them standing and carrying on with their day.

Clint knelt by the dog, stroking him for a few minutes, humming softly. "Good boy." He murmured, smiling.

As he stood, Lucky whined and shook himself out, standing and trotting over to when Clint had headed.

The dog looked at the door to their bedroom and yipped softly.

"Go on then, be gentle." Clint pointed at the door and Lucky bounded into the room.

Clint saw through the crack in the door as the dog jumped up onto the bed, wound himself around Natasha's feet and lay down.

Clint smiled again, warmth in his chest as he moved around the kitchen.

Good boy indeed.

…

Twenty minutes later, Clint carried two plates over to the couch.

Unless she was really sick, Natasha liked to eat lunch and dinner outside of the bedroom.

So he tried to make it as inviting and comfortable as possible.

He turned the TV on, fairly quiet for the time being since he wasn't sure how she would feel regarding the noise.

Sometimes Natasha could get overwhelmed with just the softest noises, with the dimmest lights, with anything heavier than cotton touching her skin.

They weren't entirely sure what it was or where it had come from but it could just happen sometimes, usually when she was overwhelmed or in a super crowded place. She could just kind of shut down and usually dropped whatever she was doing and bolted until she found somewhere quieter.

Clint would follow but she was insanely fast and by the time he caught up with her, she could either be completely in her head and shut down, or would be rocking on the spot to try and calm herself, or occasionally she would be slumped over and her hands would be hitting at the sides of her head.

They had no idea when it would flare up again, and with Natasha so exhausted, it was like her body was tired of fighting it, and so the 'episodes' were happening more frequently.

After naps, or waking in the mornings, she was exceptionally vulnerable to it.

Clint grabbed the pale pink and baby blue blanket from the back of the sofa, smiling softly as he ran his fingers over the material. Wanda and Pietro had given it to them for their second anniversary, pink and blue to mimic the coloured strips in the twins' hair.

Through either sheer coincidence or fate or something, both Natasha and Clint knew the twins' years before the pair had even met.

They'd been tentatively dating for almost two months when Natasha brought up maybe having dinner with some friends and Clint had agreed immediately, saying his friends wanted to meet her too.

They'd been very careful with revealing information, wanting to get past the first 'honeymoon' phase before revealing each other to their friends.

It had been Wanda that had figured out they were dating, before they'd even had the chance to go out for dinner.

They'd been having a girls night, drinking more than a little wine and Natasha had let slip Clint's name and then it had clicked.

It had been one hell of a trip, but at least they didn't have to worry about their closest friends getting on with each other.

Clint quickly threw the blanket over the sofa, waiting to see how Natasha felt about it when she woke, and arranged her pillows just right.

After two cups of juice, a mug of green tea, two trays and a bowl were set down, Clint went to wake Natasha.

Long naps often made her feel even worse so if possible, Clint tried to wake her after thirty minutes.

If she could get up then, great, if she needed longer, also great.

"Sweetheart, hey." Clint gently shook her shoulder, brushing fallen strands of hair out of her eyes.

Natasha hummed and blinked herself awake as Clint kissed her forehead, using soft, gentle ways to wake her up because he knew from experience that a loud voice waking her up was one of the worst ideas ever.

"Hey babe, there's food in the other room, you wanna get up?"

Natasha blinked a couple more times before nodding, groggy as she just about managed to sit halfway up.

Clint held a hand in between her shoulder blades, supporting her and moving as she did.

"There we go." Clint murmured, once she was sitting up completely.

Natasha slowly swung her legs off the side of the bed, feet planting on the floor as she fought back the dizziness that always seemed to hit when she sat or stood after laying down.

She sat there quietly, needing a few minutes before she could stand.

When she did, she was more than a little shaky on her feet.

"Can you help me?" She asked quietly after a moment, brows furrowed.

Clint wound his arm around her waist and they stood.

They took small steps out of the room and over to the sofa.

He gently lowered her down and she tugged at the blanket, throwing it over her legs and when Clint sat too, tucking it over his too.

He reached over and grabbed her bowl and plate, sat on a lap tray, making sure she was comfortable before handing it over.

"Smells good." She mumbled as she sank back against the pillows.

Clint had made something simple but delicious, and also one of Natasha's favourites.

He could be quite the cook when he wanted to be.

Tomato soup (that he made himself and froze big batches of), grilled cheese with onion, and baby carrots and sweet peppers on the side, and of course ketchup for the sandwich because Natasha loved ketchup.

On the table sat a bowl of cut up fruit too, since Natasha could get worked up about not eating very well when she was especially sick.

A long time ago, she'd suffered with some form of an eating disorder, never diagnosed, but very real nonetheless and sometimes, because of the meds or because she couldn't exercise or didn't have the energy to make healthy food, her mind could slip back there.

Clint helped her keep balance.

Natasha hummed, spooning soup carefully, blowing on it so it wasn't too hot.

"This is good." She mumbled, still a little sleepy. "Not that that's a surprise, 's always good."

"I'm glad." Clint chuckled, "I try my best." He hummed. "Oh and there's your tea on the table too."

Natasha swallowed her mouthful and tipped her head back, puckering her lips.

Clint smiled and leaned over, kissing her sweetly, one hand reverently cupping her cheek.

Pulling back, he brushed a red strand from her face and sighed softly. "I love you."

"I love you." Natasha smiled, eyes shining.

"You wanna watch some TV, love?" Clint held the remote up.

"Sure. What do we have recorded?"

"Hmm," Clint scrolled through the list. "Brooklyn Nine Nine, Wynonna Earp, Doctor Who?"

"I don't mind." Natasha hummed, more focused on not spilling any soup since she really didn't feel like doing laundry.

Clint could tell that the nap had helped a little and she was fairly with it, despite the stumbling and muscle weakness.

Brooklyn Nine Nine was usually reserved for when she couldn't focus or speak much, since they'd already seen it like three times all the way through.

"New season of Wynonna Earp started, you wanna do that?" He asked.

Natasha smiled and nodded. "Sure. You know I love me some Nicole and Waverly goodness."

Clint laughed and pressed play, settling back against the pillows with his own lunch in his lap, and his girlfriend relaxed and eating happily at his side.

Today was a good day.


	4. interesting texts and park days out

/Hey guys! So before you read this chapter, I'd like to mention that I spent over a week going back to the other chapters of this fic and making them longer and in my opinion, a whole lot better. I'm literally so happy with it now, when before I wasn't super impressed with it. Anyway, it's probably a good idea to go back and read the 3 chapters because they are pretty drastically different and have a lot more information regarding the characters etc. So yeah, thanks for your support! And also, because I'm taking my time and making these chapter 3 times the size they were before, updating may be a little more sporadic so please bear with me. I'm doing the best that I can. Okay, thanks!

Also the park bit came from something that happened this weekend. I spontaneously agreed to go to the park with a friend and I had such a nice time and smiled and laughed and looked at the ducks and played on the swings and stuff and yeah I'm suffering for it now, but I don't regret it at all./

When lunch was mainly eaten, and they'd gotten through two episodes of the show without Natasha falling asleep, Clint beamed at her as he reached for his phone.

"Hey, so Wanda sent a fuck-ton of messages. Turns out that Bucky couldn't wait to contact her and messaged her the same night and they met yesterday afternoon for Bear's first session." He pulled his arm from around her, but moved closer still so they could share the screen.

'Guys the new guy you sent me is frigging BEAUTIFUL what the heck?'

'Seriously guys how does someone so hot exist? It's really not fair'

'turns out he gets flustered a lot, I wish you could see it's adorable'

'GUYS'

'I mentioned how he got the number and like obvs I already knew but he said he met this couple and they were super nice to him even when his dog went crazy and that he would've been at a loss for what to do with Bear if YOU GUYS HADN'T HELPED'

'that's so sweet I'm gonna frigging cry like? Cute'

'he's a super quick learner even if he gets super embarrassed trying to get Bear to walk with him instead of away from him haha'

'actually embarrassed is still a good look on him'

'he seems so happy! Like we've got a lot of work to do but he's very sweet and looks like he's looking forward to it'

'HEY'

'I'm a genius. And it's not unprofessional or anything cause I arrange this sort of thing all the time'

'are you ready for my amazing idea?'

'we arrange a play date for Lucky and Bear!'

'you bring the dog to the park, we help socialise his dog, Bear gets to make a friend and follow Lucky's behaviour and becomes a super duper therapy dog…'

'you get to see angel eyes again'

'good right? Lemme know what you want to do and I'll arrange it! Love ya'

Clint chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I think the session went well."

Natasha hummed, a smirk crossing her face as she flicked back through the last couple of messages.

"What do you think?" She asked, tilting her head as she looked up from the phone.

"I think that Wanda is a genius, and it's the perfect way to get to know him without overwhelming the poor guy." Clint grinned, sliding an arm back around her shoulders.

"I'll message Wanda then." Natasha laughed, head settling against his shoulder.

"This is gonna be good."

…

Another couple of hours passed as Natasha internally fought the exhaustion constantly warring at her brain.

Those two hours were spent thinking of what she wanted to do for the rest of the day, and figuring out if she would be able to do it or not.

"Clint?" Natasha sat up, fiddling with the sleeve of her borrowed (stolen from Clint) sweater.

"Yeah, babe?" Clint shuffled up against the sofa cushions. "Everything okay?"

The redhead paused for a moment before nodding slowly. "Can we…I'd like to go to the park. I'm not entirely sure if I'll be able to do much once I'm there but even…even if we just sit for a while."

"I think that's a great idea." Clint grinned, sitting up. "We can definitely do that. Are you sure though?"

Natasha nodded again. "I miss just sitting outside. It was really nice this morning on the balcony but…I want trees and to see the ducks and just…enjoy it. I'll take my stick and Lucky and I'll sit down as much as I have to but I need this."

Clint smiled and ran his thumb over her cheek. "Then that's what we'll do." He said softly.

"But first, you're gonna need to put some pants on. Not that I'm complaining, like…at all, but the people at the park might have something to say." Clint winked and stood, holding out his hand to her.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"And you love me for it."

…

It was just getting into Fall, arguably the best season of them all, so the pair wrapped up warm.

Once sweaters, boots, scarves and coats were on, they headed down to the parking garage.

The park was only about a ten minute walk but they didn't know how much walking they'd do once they got there, and if Natasha used all her energy walking there and then literally couldn't walk home, there would be problems.

So it was just easier to take the car, and then they didn't have to worry about taking it super easy around the park just so they could get home.

After the very short journey was complete, the pair clambered out the car.

Clint headed around to the back and pulled open the back doors so Lucky could hop out.

Securing the bandana around his neck, and the lead to the harness, Clint brought him around to Natasha.

It was better if Clint held the dog when Natasha had her stick, since it would make walking even more difficult.

Natasha slid her free hand into Clint's and the man gave it a soft squeeze as they walked through the gates.

The park was pretty empty, since it was past the time the kids played there after school, but before the time the adults tended to come out after work to have a nice stroll or walk their dogs too.

They first made a beeline for the duck pond.

Natasha _loved_ watching the ducks and could stay there for actual hours just enjoying them.

The park had a ton of benches so they both sat down (pacing was very very important and even if they sat for only half a minute every five minutes, that was better on her joints than Natasha staying standing for the whole five minutes).

After a brief sit down, Natasha stood and moved over to the smaller gate surrounding the pond and the ducks.

She smiled as she watched them swim, or push their heads under the water, or chase each other around.

She patted her pockets and grinned when she felt the packet of bird feed there.

They got it from the same pet store they got Lucky's food and there would often be half used bags or random seeds in all her coats.

She pulled out the bag, her smile wide as she scattered some of the feed over the grassy banks and over the rocks by the waters' edge.

Soon, a good collection of all the different ducks were congregating by Natasha, some even squishing their bodies down and shuffling _under_ the gate to sit around at her feet.

Natasha laughed as that happened. "Oh my god, did you see that?" She span around to find Clint, who was watching her with watery eyes and a big smile.

"I didn't think that big guy would make it under, kudos to him." Clint chuckled, standing and coming over to her, careful to keep Lucky away from the ones closest to them.

He picked up a handful of the feed, throwing it over to the side, so the ducks that were smaller or less boisterous could get some too.

Clint also carefully slid out his phone, and took a couple of pictures from behind Natasha; her smiling and laughing as the ducks pushed forward.

It had become quite an unusual thing to see Natasha looking quite so carefree, and the expression on her face was pure delight and happiness and humour and absolutely, breathtakingly _beautiful_.

The pictures were for his eyes only, though he would of course show them to Natasha.

He knew she would get bashful and embarrassed, but would love to see the expression that he got to see.

Sometimes it was the little things that were the absolute best.

When they ran out of the feed and the ducks waddled back to the water, Natasha took Clint's hand again and they made a couple of slow, leisurely circles around the pond.

Natasha's eyes wandered over to the actual play park section, eyes lighting up and instantly she was tugging Clint over there when she realised there were no more kids about.

"Swings?" The man grinned, carefully tying Lucky to the entry gate as they headed over there.

"Swings." Natasha beamed, plopping down on one of the seats after placing her stick on the floor, wasting no time in kicking off from the ground.

Clint sat on the swing next to her, head tilted just a little so that when they passed each other, he could see her face, cheeks flushed from the wind, and her hair shining like flames in the sun.

It soon became a competition; who could get the highest and though it was impossible to really tell, it didn't stop them from trying to beat the other.

Natasha laughed, head tilted back as she watched the sky every time she swung back.

Clint grinned and as he reached the highest point of his swing, he jumped off.

He landed it _almost_ perfectly, but stumbled just a little as his feet touched the floor.

Natasha jumped next, smirking as she landed, crouched a little but not wavering once.

"Fine, you win." Clint stuck his tongue out, but really wasn't mad in the slightest.

Before the chronic fatigue had become so…debilitating , Natasha had been the queen of balance and poise; she'd done ballet for years when she was little, and apparently it was something that carried on into adulthood.

But then the illness had come, and Natasha lost her balance even taking a couple of steps or getting up from her seat.

Somehow, he'd completely forgotten that when he'd issued the silent challenge and jumped from his seat.

But also, it looked like Natasha had forgotten that too.

She looked happy and her smirk at having won remained, but she didn't look shocked that she'd kept her balance.

Clint leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, cupping her jaw with one hand. "You're amazing." He said softly, reverently, meaning it in every fibre of his being.

Natasha's smirk dropped and that shy smile replaced it, though her eyes were still full of humour.

"I know." The redhead grinned, stealing another quick kiss. "Now c'mon, I wanna play on the roundabout."

She all but ran over to the bright yellow thing, hopping on and placing herself firmly on one of the four seats.

Clint grabbed the rails, "hold on tight, doll."

He pushed the bar and it immediately began to spin around in a circle.

Laughter bubbled up in Natasha's chest as Clint started to run with the bar in his grip, so he could make it go faster.

Both of them were laughing like idiots in seconds as Clint let go, stumbling and breathless as he watched Natasha's form blur past him.

"Oh my god, oh my god okay!" Natasha shouted. "This is fast, okay I'm done!"

Clint re-took the bar and pulled it to a stop, feet digging into the floor.

As Natasha tried to clamber off, she fell and Clint grabbed her.

They both toppled to the floor, Natasha on top of Clint.

Amusement quickly took over the shock as they both giggled, Clint's arms winding around her waist.

"Oh man, everything is spinning." Natasha groaned, grin on her face as she pressed her face to his shoulder.

"Well, I am an expert at roundabout spinning." Clint quipped, chuckling as he sat them both up.

"Hey, you could do that for a job." Natasha grinned, getting up onto her feet with Clint quickly following.

The man bent and picked up her stick, handing it over and going over to untie Lucky.

Natasha headed to the gate and craned her head around to look down the path.

"Hey, the ice cream van is still here!"

…

When they both had ice creams in hand, the pair sat down on a small grassy bank overlooking most of the park.

Clint laid his coat down and they both snuggled up close to each other, neither one caring that it was probably way too cold for ice-cream as they tucked in.

Natasha had finally decided on a vanilla cone with strawberry sauce and sprinkles and it was relatively tame compared to Clint's; vanilla and chocolate with at least three different sauces and a fuck-ton of sprinkles and chocolate.

"You're a child." Natasha hummed fondly.

Clint pouted and reached over, dabbing the end of his ice cream against the top of her nose.

"Clint!" Natasha batted at his hand, "you're disgusting."

Clint laughed and leaned over again, delicately licking the drop of ice cream off.

"Ew c'mon!" Natasha pulled a face, giggling and swiping at her nose with her scarf.

Clint only beamed innocently at her, more preoccupied with trying not to spill any of the insane amount of toppings all over himself and his clothes.

 _Literal child._

Once the ice creams were gone, Natasha leaned her head against Clint's shoulder, enjoying the last of the sunshine as she watched people play and the ducks swim across the water.

"This was just what I needed, Clint." She smiled, closing her eyes and just relaxing into the feel of fresh air against her face, and her boyfriends' warm body beside her.

"I'm glad you suggested it, Nat." Clint said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "It's been lovely."

It had been more than lovely, and Natasha knew her body would pay for it tomorrow.

But in that moment, with the sun setting and creating the most beautiful sky, with Clint next to her and the sounds of ducks and _life_ surrounding her, she couldn't find it in herself to care.


	5. baths, pizza and cozy nights

Hey everyone! It's been a while I know. My health is pretty damn bad atm and sitting down to write a 3000+ word chapter seems so overwhelming. But I miss writing so I'm going to try my best and bring you a good chapter. I hope you enjoy!I have a beta-reader now! So thank you to my best friend in the world for helping me out! Cas ily.

Kotyonok: kitten in Russian

Malyshka: baby in Russian

/ / / /

It was getting dark by the time Clint and Natasha got home from the park.

Natasha sat on the sofa as soon as they got into the doors, as Clint went around turning on lights and closing the curtains.

Shivering, the redhead carefully pulled her boots off, wincing a little as the movements twinged her back.

Clint came back over after turning the heating on, kneeling in front of her to help her finish getting her shoes off. Then, because she was still shuddering, he helped her get the gloves and scarf off but left her in the coat until the place warmed up a bit.

When Natasha was low and especially after a big day, she was often exceptionally cold.

Not only that, but despite not actually having the flu, she would experience some of the typical symptoms until her body had recovered some.

Natasha dithered on the sofa as Clint plugged in their heated blanket and tucked the woman up in it.

"Thanks.'' Natasha smiled weakly, burrowing under the blanket until just her eyes and the top of her head peeked out

"Of course, love. I know you had a shower earlier, but how would you feel about having a bath?" Clint hummed, gently brushing red strands of hair from her forehead.

Baths could be tricky, especially with the muscle weakness and fatigue, combined with the fact that she got dizzy when she was run down.

But, it was also the fastest way to get her warmed up and if they used her bath salts and oils, it was also a good way to help ease the pain in her back and stave it off before it got too bad.

Natasha thought for a moment before nodding, voice muffled by the blanket over her mouth.

"Yeah, that's a good idea." She paused for a moment before sticking her full face up from the material. "Join me?"

The smile that crossed Clint's face was indescribable and he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'd love to."

Both knew that it was unlikely there would be anything sexual happening in the bath, but Clint loved their shared baths. There was something super intimate about being together in the hot water, just skin on skin and a conversation that could last long after the bubbles had faded.

Clint smiled warmly and stood up. "I'll go start running it. Why don't you order something for dinner, so we're not worrying about it when we're in the bath?" Another soft brush of lips against her forehead before he headed to the bathroom.

He plugged the bottom of the tub and shifted the shower stool over to the far end of the bath before running the hot water.

Once there was a couple inches of water, Clint grabbed their bottles down from the cupboard. First in went three scoops of lavender Epsom salts; very good for both relaxation and helping to ease muscle aches. Next a generous dash of Natasha's favourite bath soak went in; this one immediately making the bathroom smell like a candy shop. Clint loved the scent on Natasha's skin the night of a bath. Then, Clint added a couple drops of lavender essential oil and because he was feeling fancy, some dried rose petals.

Natasha often kept some of the flowers whenever Clint brought them for her, and saved the petals to use for baths. They were a bitch to clean out the tub but he didn't mind because every little bit of self-care that Natasha implemented was a good thing.

Whilst Clint busied himself in the bathroom, Natasha scrolled through her phone contacts to find a food place that sounded good. They were regulars at a lot of the joints around town so picking one take-out place could be difficult.

She hovered over 'Gino's Pizzeria' before nodding to herself; pizza sounded like an amazing idea.

She pressed the button and held the phone to her ear.

"Gino's Pizza, how can I help?"

Natasha grinned at the familiar voice, "Hey Simone, it's Natasha, how are things, how are the kids?"

"Nat!" The excited voice met her ear. "Hey. Yeah, things aren't so bad, just getting on with it y'know? The kids are good, menaces, but doing well at school so obviously I'm a proud mama. I heard you were sick, how are you doing?"

"I'm okay, it's getting under control, I'll be good." Natasha swallowed thickly. "Clint's doing good too, he's got some shows coming up, he's writing all the time."

"Aw, maybe I'll drop in on you guys next time he plays, it's been ages since I've seen you." Simone sighed.

"Absolutely, we'll drop you a message when we have the details. Get a babysitter, come have a drink, yeah?" Natasha smiled.

"Oh hell yeah." The other woman chuckled. "Anyway, my boss is gonna kill me if he sees us chatting, so what can I get'cha, the usual? One twelve inch barbecue and veggie with extra cheese, one twelve inch traditional base with chicken and bacon,"

The women said the next line together, "And a fuck-ton of garlic knots-"

Natasha laughed, nodding even though Simone couldn't see. "Exactly! Thanks, S, I'll be in touch when we have a date set."

"Sounds good, have a nice night! See you soon."

"See you soon, S."

Natasha ended the call, immediately setting an app reminder; telling her to contact Simone when they had a show date. Otherwise, she would completely forget and let the other woman down.

Brain fog fucking sucked.

Once the tub began to fill, Clint turned the cold tap on so it wasn't boiling and went out to the bedroom to gather the rest of the stuff.

Clint usually just wore boxers to bed, no matter the temperature and what Natasha wore always depended on how she felt on any given night. Because it was still only early evening, he grabbed two pairs of sweatpants and a couple of his old shirts along with socks and underwear.

After carrying them to the bathroom, he placed Natasha's clothes over the heated rail, along with a big fluffy towel.

The tub was filled at this point, so the blonde headed back to Natasha, passing through the kitchen area first so he could put the kettle on.

Their kitchen and living room were effectively the same room; but it was big enough that both parts of the house didn't crowd the other. On one side sat the breakfast island and all the usual kitchen-y things, and on the other side of the room was occupied by a couch, table and big screen TV.

Natasha was still shivering when Clint got to her, sniffling and rubbing her nose as the man crouched down again.

"Alright, love, it's all ready. All we have to do is get your clothes off super quick and then you'll be nice and warm, okay?"

"You always want to get my clothes off quick." Natasha mumbled as she reluctantly pushed the heated blanket to the side.

Clint chuckled and shook his head. "Now who's incorrigible?" He teased as he offered his hand out.

Natasha hissed softly, brows creasing as she held her breath for a moment.

Clint gently slid an arm around her waist, fingers brushing over her hip. "Your back?"

The redhead nodded, expression tight as they took a couple steps in the direction of the bathroom.

It was always better that Clint sat at the end of the tub and Natasha sat with her back against his chest, so he had to get in first.

He carefully set the woman on the closed toilet seat, squeezing her waist and smiling. "Just a minute."

Clint rushed around the kitchen, making a cup of tea for Natasha and grabbing a sheet of her pain meds from the cupboard.

He popped out two of the meds and set them on the bath stool with her mug of tea; it wasn't just good for sitting on, it made a very useful shelf in a pinch.

Clint wasn't really cold; he never really felt the cold much, which was good since he was Natasha's little personal heater.

So he peeled off his clothes, throwing them from the other side of the room into the hamper.

Natasha rolled her eyes fondly. "Always have to make it a game."

"Yeah, because I'm an amazing shot, and I never miss." Clint grinned as he helped Natasha get her arms out of her coat.

"You're just jealous 'cause I would have been an amazing superhero in another life." The blonde chuckled.

"Yeah and what would your super power have been?" Natasha asked dryly, "helping people put their laundry away?"

"Hell no, I'd be a badass, shooting all my targets and never missing." Clint stuck his tongue out as he pulled her shirt over her head.

"With your balance?" Natasha shook her head, "nah, I'd be the superhero." She smiled sweetly.

"You're already a super hero." Clint grinned back, though his words weren't actually a joke but the truth.

The tips of Natasha's ears darkened and she dropped her gaze. "Shut up, Barton."

"Make me, Romanoff." Clint stuck his tongue out again as Natasha wiggled out of her pants.

He held out his hand and she stood, shimmying off her underwear and padding over to the bath tub.

Clint clambered in first, standing in the water as Natasha lifted one leg in, her foot touching the non-slip mat on the bottom of the bath.

Once both feet were in, Natasha sank to her knees as Clint got comfortable at the end of the tub before Natasha got onto her butt.

She shuffled up and Clint's legs braced her thighs on either side, his arms dipping into the water as his fingers ghosted over her ribs.

One hand rested on her stomach, the other on her thigh as she tilted her head back against his shoulder, exhaling softly.

"This is nice." Natasha said softly, her eyelids fluttering shut for a moment as she shuffled down so her shoulders were just above the water.

Clint smiled and nipped lightly at her ear, resting his chin atop her head.

"Warm enough?" He asked quietly.

Natasha hummed and nodded before slowly opening her eyes. "It's perfect."

"You're perfect." Clint murmured.

"Stop it," She tutted, looking up through her lashes at him, "you play too much."

Clint looked offended, though his eyes showed differently. "You wound me, Tash. I'm not playing at all, would I lie to you?"

The redhead sighed softly. "Fine. That's your truth, doesn't mean it's mine."

"Also doesn't mean I'm gonna stop telling you how perfect you are." He hummed, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Natasha rolled her eyes as she scooted forward so she could grab her tea and meds from the stool, barely supressing a whimper of pain as she sank back against Clint's chest again. The blonde rested his hand against her hip, gently rubbing over her skin.

"You're okay, breathe through it." He said quietly, his other hand combing through red strands of hair.

The woman took a couple of deep breaths through her nose, her teeth gritted and her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for the wave to pass.

"I'm fucking sick of this-" She grunted, frustrated tears welling up and threatening to spill. "I just fucking reached forward, it's not like I'm lifting weights or doing anything remotely strenuous, I'm in the bath for Gods' sake." She threw the meds into her mouth and took a swig of the tea before putting the mug down and rubbing at her eyes, sniffling delicately.

Clint was sometimes a little bit at a loss for what to say; what could he say to make her feel better? The situation was shit, the pain she felt was shit, the fact it came out of nowhere and sparked up doing small, simple things was utter shit.

"I know you're sick of it, babe." He said quietly, nuzzling his nose against her throat, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. "It's absolute bullshit that this is happening."

Natasha slowly sat forward a little, hand wrapping around the side of the bath tub so she could pull herself further away, knees to her chest and her forehead resting on them as they sat just above the water.

Clint immediately understood what she was asking for and carefully brushed some hair from the nape of her neck, pushing it over the front of her shoulders.

"Tell me if it gets too much, kotyonok." He murmured before resting his palms on her shoulder blades.

Massages hurt. There was no getting around that but they had both learned that in order to feel better in the long term, there had to be some pain in the short-term. Natasha often felt a lot of relief from the pain when Clint finished the massages, and had said once that no matter how much it hurt to have it done, it was always better after and she never once regretted it.

The blonde was by no means an expert but he had picked up some tips and tricks thanks to trusty old Youtube.

Not just good for funny dog videos after all.

He carefully rubbed the expanse of her back with the flats of his hands first, getting her used to the touches before he really went all in. His hands dipped below the water to skim over the bottom of her back and a little lower because that was where a lot of the pain stemmed from. Once her skin was just a bit red, he poured a little of the lavender oil from earlier into his hands. Rubbing them together, he started the massage properly.

Natasha was tense to begin with, wincing and biting her lower lip as Clint dug his fingers into the pressure points along her spine, working the knots until they disappeared under his fingertips. After each knot dissolved, a soft sigh left Natasha's lips and Clint smiled, knowing he was doing something small that wold help her feel a bit better.

Once her spine was relatively loose and Natasha had sank forward some more, cheek pillowed on her knees, he moved to her shoulders. She held a lot of tension there and it showed; the muscles tight and coiled.

This seemed to hurt more than her spine had, the redhead jerking a little and letting out shaky little breaths. Clint hated to hurt her, but she hadn't told him to stop and they knew it would feel so much better after.

"I've got you, malyshka." He hummed, pressing a kiss to the reddened skin of her right shoulder before continuing on, pressing and working through the especially tight and almost hard spots under her skin.

Almost ten minutes later and something finally gave, Natasha almost moaning with the sensation as Clint dropped his hands from her shoulders. "Okay?"

"Mm, much better-" The redhead half purred, her eyelids fluttering shut as she rolled her shoulders back, with much more ease than earlier.

"Almost done, love, sit forward a little more for me?" the blonde asked, his fingers splayed across the bottom of her back.

Natasha used the shower stool to rest her elbows on, so she was forward enough for Clint to reach where he needed to.

Calloused fingers dug into the soft skin just above her tailbone, using his thumbs to draw circles in her flesh, pushing up and around her hips, earning a slight squeal from the redhead as he ran over a very ticklish spot.

Clint smirked; it was very difficult to catch Natasha off guard with things like that and he always felt pride when he was able to be the only one to actually make it happen.

"Sorry, love." He chuckled, earning himself a glare as Natasha looked over her shoulder at him, glaring, though her lips were twisted in a smile.

"You are absolutely not sorry at all." Natasha accused, raising one perfect eyebrow.

"Nah, you're right, I'm really not." Clint grinned, all teeth, right at her.

The redhead huffed and stuck her tongue out at him before leaning back against the shower stool.

Clint continued to beam as he returned his attention to the flushed skin sitting under the water, fingers deftly working away more knots and tension until Natasha was warm and loose, almost asleep as she pulled her head up from where it had rested in her hands.

She turned in the water, not once wincing as she climbed into Clint's lap, her legs going around the bottom of his back. She took his jaw in one hand, her other hand cupping his cheek as she ducked her head down to kiss him.

Their lips met and the pair kissed languidly for a while, hands rubbing over soft and warm skin as they took advantage of the last of the hot water.

"I love you." Natasha said reverently, slowly opening her eyes as she looked down at her boyfriend, voice soft.

"I love you, Tash." Clint brushed his lips against hers once more, looking at her with eyes so full of adoration, Natasha could have cried just witnessing it.

Unfortunately the massage and subsequent kissing had taken a substantial amount of time so the water was getting colder and they were suitably prune-y, so it was time to get out.

Natasha carefully clambered off of Clint, backing up in the water so he had space to move.

She had showered that morning so Clint quickly washed his hair, lathering up shampoo through his hair, rinsing it with the hand held shower head, so he wouldn't have to come back later to do it.

It took less than a minute for him to finish, pulling the bath plug when he was done.

The redhead shuffled in the water again so Clint could stand and step out onto the mat. Then he reached forward as Natasha shakily got to her feet, his hands taking hers, ready to grab her if she slipped. He was absolutely not having that happen again; they had the slip mat for a reason.

One foot at a time, she clambered out and Clint immediately wrapped her in the warmed towel, rubbing up and down her arms.

"Let's get dressed, hmm?" He asked as Natasha sat back down on the toilet lid, nodding.

The blonde quickly dried himself off and pulled on the clothes he'd laid out before helping Natasha to do the same.

When both were done, they headed out to the living room and the same set up as earlier.

Clint got out plates and filled cups of water, bringing them over to the table as Natasha looked through the TV to find something to watch.

When the doorbell rang, Clint walked over, smiling as he pulled the door open.

"Hey man," The guy handed over the bag, "nice night?"

"Pretty good," The blonde looked back into the living room and the redhead waiting for him before turning back to the delivery guy. "You?"

"Not so bad." The guy, boy really, nodded.

"I haven't seen you before, are you new?" Clint peered in the bag to make sure their whole order was there. Not having the garlic knots turn up was an actual tragedy.

"I started a week ago," The boy looked a little embarrassed, "just trying to get some money to put into my college fund. We had a break in and no insurance so me and mom had to spend it on replacing stuff." He shrugged.

Clint seemed to have one of those faces that people immediately warmed to. Wanted to talk to.

"Damn, I'm sorry to hear that. " The blonde opened his wallet, handing over double what their order was.

The boy's smile widened at the extra cash. "Thanks! Are you sure? That's a big tip."

"I'm sure. Have a good night." Clint smiled.

"You too!"

Clint locked the door and brought the bag of food over to the table.

"I will never get tired of that smell." Clint hummed, placing the two pizzas and box of garlic knots on the table, momentarily confused when the bag was still heavy. "Oh, no way! Was it Simone working tonight? She gave us some ice-cream." He beamed, holding up two frosted cups of Moose-Tracks.

"That's nice of her." Natasha grinned. She hadn't even thought of getting ice-cream after they'd already had some that day but she loved Moose-Tracks and definitely wasn't going to say no to free ice cream.

Clint rushed off to put the cups in the freezer before they melted before coming back opening the boxes, plating up a couple slices and dividing the sauces between them.

Clint could demolish his pizza and garlic knots in one go but it was usually enough for Natasha to have it over two days.

Lucky could also inhale a slice in mere seconds, so both had to keep an eye on the dog so he didn't run off with the whole damn pizza again.

The dog was already very quietly padding over to them and Natasha smirked as Lucky butted up against her knee.

"Not this time, Lucky, I am not dragging you to the vet again." She pointed at his bowl. "Go on, your food is there." She raised an eyebrow.

Lucky whined and trotted over to his bowl, looking forlorn as he ate his own dinner.

Clint laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back, happily munching on the pizza.

"Ooh we wanted to watch Sherlock! Each episode is like a film anyways." He mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Natasha rolled her eyes at his lack of manners and hummed. "Yeah, let's do it."

The show started and both loaded their plates up before curling up under the blankets.

Cozy nights were the best; dimmed lights and blankets, a good film or show, their partner beside them to offer cuddles and love and warmth/

It was perfect.

But still excitement grew at the prospect of adding to the love down the road.

Only time would tell.


	6. Bucky's bi agenda and another good boy

Just a note, not only do I not know anyone in the army but I'm aware that American army service is probably different to British. I do not know what happens overseas, I just know small bits and pieces. However, a friend of mine had been in the army and I know how he was treated after and how little psychological support/monetary support he got after everything he'd been through. So that's all I really have to go on. I don't want to offend anybody so if I say something wrong please please please message me and we can work together on those pieces. Also I've never been to America, let alone New York so I probably have the boroughs and streets wrong despite doing my research.

Some tw's in this chapter: panic attacks and flashbacks, ptsd, mental illness in general, dealing with significant injuries, med talk

I'm really happy with how I am starting to bring in other characters into this world and you'll see more of that next chapter. I hope you like what I've done with them too. And don't worry, I promise the doggy playdate is coming. I didn't realize how slowburn-y I would make this.

As always, thank you to my best friend and beta reader and the person who makes sure this makes sense, is Americanized, and is as good as it could possibly be. She lets me bother her constantly with questions and without her it would not be as good. So thanks sis!

/ / / /

9 days earlier

Bucky took the long way from the downtown apartment to the doctors' offices. He was getting antsy cooped up inside - New York was fucking expensive and the pay-out from the army was barely enough for him to stay in Brooklyn, so the place he'd managed to get was small and cramped. As it was, he was at least forty minutes from Steve's apartment, since his friend lived on a decent street and the apartments were absurd prices there.

He'd been out of the army for 8 months and had only recently been able to finally move out of Steve and Peggy's and get a place of his own. It was small - sure it did its job, but more often than not it just felt like the walls were closing in on him.

The outside world was often overwhelming though, so the man often found himself in a catch twenty-two; too stifling inside, too vast outside.

That morning, the walls had gotten to him more than the outside, so he'd opted to leave an hour before his appointment and walk instead of taking his old motorbike (he'd kept it in Steve's storage locker when he was away and his friend, knowing how important it was to Bucky, had paid for a storage locker close to his house so he could keep his bike). He'd brought the dog, though he was a menace and more a nuisance than he was helpful. But he was company and Bucky was sorely lacking in company, probably mostly his own fault, but also because everyone around him had lives that were blooming and blossoming and Bucky was just…surviving, but not really living.

Stevie and Peg were a drive away but Steve's business was growing, he was selling more and more prints, more original drawings, more comic strips, and sometimes he just couldn't take a day off. They talked on the phone all the time but every time they planned to meet up, something came up or Bucky would change his mind and decide that no, he really wasn't up to it after all. And sometimes Bucky just didn't feel like seeing anyone, literally anyone, no matter how close he was to them. Peggy was, if possible, even more busy, though Bucky was still a little confused on what exactly it was that she did. She was up at all hours, often leaving for a couple days at a time, but still always there to answer his 3am calls.

It wasn't even those closest to him that he pushed away sometimes, even the newer, more casual relationships suffered. Last he'd heard, Bruce was off getting another PHD at one of those fancy schools America had to offer, off changing the world and kicking every leading scientist's ass in pretty much every aspect of science ever. Bucky didn't really get science, but he knew whatever Bruce was doing was important and would help a lot of people. He hadn't seen either him or Tony since he'd gone into Tony's offices to get fitted for his latest prosthetic, almost two months ago, though they called one another to either catch up or discuss the latest model Tony was making. It wasn't surprising that he hadn't seen the man though, he'd been snowed under with the pick-up in the new side of Stark Industries. Because Tony offered prosthetics at a rate unseen before, for pittance compared to what other companies sold their products at, he was completely inundated with requests and he refused to turn down anyone who needed his help.

Sam had apparently been doing better, if his messages were anything to go by. He still had his bad days, everyone did, but it seemed like he'd turned some sort of corner in his post-army recovery. He was taking on nearly full leadership of group and had moved into a new apartment. He was probably who Bucky saw most, since he rarely ever missed one of their weekly meetings. Bucky had met Sam when Steve dragged him to a meeting at the local VA and it had turned out that Bucky had met Sam's boyfriend, Riley , during a tour almost a year previous. Now months later, he was good friends with both of them and got to watch two men who couldn't deserve it more, get to move in together and live their lives.

He guessed some people were just fated to meet .

Though why exactly, he wasn't sure.

But pretty much every relationship in his life had felt like that. Had felt like they were meant to be.

His bond with his family had been all encompassing. Realistically, he knew that that was probably the case for a lot of families, that bond. But with Bucky it seemed to be beyond that. He was joined at the hip with his family, particularly Winnifred. He spent so much of his time with her that he got anxious when they were apart, that he missed her when he was at school, when she was working a late shift. He was always worried about her, if she'd be coming home, if she would come back at all, if she was late he worried she'd been hurt. He worried himself physically sick if she was ever more than an hour later than the time she said she'd be home. He would cry, pace the length of the apartment, constantly trying to control the racing of his heart. He was scared all the time that one day a member of his family would not come home again. He hadn't realised until later in life that this constant worrying was actually crippling anxiety, so yay.

He followed Rebecca, his sister, around like a lost puppy. Would sit in on her and her friends and watch them play games. Her friends would always look at him, questioning Becca on what he was doing there. Every time Rebecca would smile over at Bucky and say something along the lines of, "He's my brother and he wants to play with us. If you don't like him being here, you don't have to stay." She was never annoyed with him, never kicked him out of her room. She was often there when his meltdowns over their mother occurred. She would sit with him, arm around his shoulders, telling him all the gossip from the guys and girls at school. She would, depending on the weather, make him hot chocolate or an ice cream sundae, and place him in front of the TV to watch cartoons until he'd controlled his breathing and his mother came home.

Bucky didn't see his father a whole lot, he was working hard to bring in the money for the family, Winnie always told him. But when he was there, it was perfect. They made sure to have Sunday dinner together, since it was one of the only afternoons George had off work. Then George would go to the garage for a little bit, tinkering with his motorbike and Bucky would trail after him. He wasn't sure what his father was doing but he loved to watch. Sometimes his father would ask the boy to pass him something, so he got quickly acquainted with all the different tools so that he could pass him the right one. When he got a little older, George always said, he'd teach Bucky how to fix the bike himself.

His family were the most important thing in the world to Bucky. He felt like he didn't need friends, didn't need anybody but them - but then Steve came along.

Some of his first ever memories included Steve, the scrawny blond haired boy from two doors down. Bucky had passed the boy on the streets often but he'd been a kinda weird kid. He was either too enthusiastic with the children his age, talking too much, too insistent they play together at break time, turning up on the playground only to find the same kids laughing at him for being a loser. He was either that or he was too quiet, head down, unwilling to join in conversations or offer his friendship for fear of rejection, for fear of name-calling, pointed fingers, laughs from the playground.

He'd been quiet with the blond boy, scuffing his shoes on the pavement as they crossed paths, clinging tighter to his mother's hand. One time Winnifred had leaned down, asking if James would like her to go talk to the boy's parents, ask if he wanted to play. Bucky had stubbornly shook his head, focused on kicking a jagged pebble down the street. Well versed in her son's moods, Winnie had just squeezed his hand as they reached their front door. "Go on and get your school books out, I'll make you some chocolate milk and we'll get it done, yeah?" She'd said, sharing what she thought was a secret look with George, pottering around in the living room.

Bucky had caught that look, not really understanding it but noting the worried pinch of his mother's brows.

The next day, when he'd passed the boy on the way home from school, Bucky had lifted his hand and waved. The blond boy had offered a shy smile and waved his hand in response.

The next week passed in that manner, the two boys would wave at each other as they walked home. On the eighth day, the blond was nowhere to be seen. Bucky decided to wait outside his house, anxiety gnawing at his insides. He felt like something was wrong . Winnifred went inside to start dinner, instructing Bucky to come home in half an hour.

Bucky wandered the street, up and down it. Somewhere on the third lap, Bucky heard shouts and jeers coming from the alleyway to the left of the street. He ran the rest of the way, skidding to a stop in front of the opening. There the blond boy was, sprawled across the floor with two older boys hovering over him, fists clenched. Bucky could see that the blond's nose was bloodied.

Immediately Bucky intervened, since it looked like the boys were nowhere near done. He hit out, pushing and punching, ducking and jumping out the way of fists and kicks. He wasn't sure where the urge to fight had come from, he just hated seeing anyone get hurt for no reason. Soon enough, the boys scampered off and Bucky offered out his hand to the boy. "Hi, I'm James. Do you want to come have dinner with us?"

He did.

…

Pulled from his thoughts, Bucky found that he'd arrived at the doctor's. He didn't really remember the journey, but that happened sometimes. At least he still had a hold of Bear because more than one time already, he'd snapped out of his head to find the dog gone.

He was a couple of minutes early for his appointment so he leaned against the railings of the ramp leading up to the sliding doors. He took out his phone, scrolling through the notes he'd made, so he didn't forget anything important. It was his first appointment in months. The last one had been a few days after he'd arrived back in America, when he'd been terrified and broken, seeing things every time he blinked, the phantom pain from his missing limb so bad that all he could do was curl up and sob.

He hoped to not have to come for another couple of months, so if he forgot something, he'd have to wait until next time. As it was, he already had a whole list of shit he needed to go through.

He didn't want more meds, but through talking to Steve and Peg, talking it through with Sam and Riley and the group at the VA, he'd slowly come around to the idea. He couldn't continue the way he had been. If meds could help, he would try just about anything offered.

Adjusting his grip on the lead, Bucky continued to edit the list he'd made. He was still getting used to the prosthetic and sometimes he had problems gripping things properly. But he needed the flesh hand in order to use his phone, so the lead was in the other. All it took was too light a grip on the material and Bear was tugging out of his hold.

Cursing, Bucky fumbled for the lead. "Shit, Bear, shut up!" he hissed as the dog started to bark, running around in circles and jumping up and down on the spot. Bucky thought he was hallucinating when he caught sight of a golden dog chasing after Bear. That dog had come out of literal thin air.

Blinking, Bucky tried to grab the dog's collar, cursing softly. "Bear, honestly man, c'mon." He groaned, trying to get his menace away from the other dog.

The new dog was getting tangled up with Bear and Bucky started to worry he wouldn't be able to control his dog, let alone get them untangled, when a man and a woman stepped out of the doors.

The blond man called for the golden dog and because the other dog was actually well behaved, he bounded right over to his owner.

Tapping his thigh in the way YouTube had told him too, he attempted again to get Bear over to him but no, his dog was an actual rascal and Bucky had no idea how to train animals. "Bear, c'mon." He sighed, embarrassed and flushed as he resorted to baiting the dog over with a treat from his pocket.

"I'm so sorry 'bout him. I've only had him for a couple of weeks." Bucky shook his head, absently lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

"Don't worry, man. Trust us, we know. We got Lucky when he was two and he'd never been trained at all. He was, and still is, a menace." Bucky caught the man's gaze as he spoke next, momentarily caught off guard because holy shit was he attractive.

"Bear was a gift from a friend, supposed to be my service dog but I've never had a dog in my life. He needs to be well trained but…I'm clearly not very good at it." He shrugged, bashful.

The woman spoke next and again holy shit. How had he ever thought he was anything but bisexual?

The woman was stunning, pale and sharp and lean. Her hair was the most brilliant shade of red and Bucky thought it was probably natural. It blew in the wind like flames and the woman tried to control it by tucking it behind her ear. She was smiling, though the lines of her face were pinched with something Bucky couldn't determine. She was fiddling with a walking stick, twisting the strap around her fingers. Pain, his mind supplied, her expression was full of pain. But her smile was beautiful, the kind of smile that probably stopped people in their tracks. And she was smiling at him.

Pulling his gaze from those brilliant emerald eyes, Bucky found that looking at the man was not helping how flustered he was becoming. Because damn. He was taller than the woman, all muscles and lean strength packed in. His sandy hair was tousled, like he'd ran his fingers through it and how on earth did messy hair look so good? And could Bucky tug his fingers through the strands 'cause uh…okay brain, don't be fucking creepy, shut up. The man's eyes were full of barely contained humor and his hand had settled around the woman's waist, calloused fingers absently rubbing at her hip.

Bucky looked back down at his dog, the only safe place his eyes could settle. He really needed to get out more.

"Hey, if you want, I have the number of a really good dog trainer. She helped train Lucky and he was quite the handful. She's local too." The woman spoke, gaze even kinder than it had been a moment ago. Bucky glanced at the bandana around the golden dog's neck. He was a service dog too. That explained the empathetic expression on the woman's face.

Bucky couldn't help but grin, "Yeah? That would be great." Inside Bucky was screaming at him to say something else, anything else as the redhead pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled something down. She handed the note over and Bucky swallowed thickly.

He slid the paper into his back pocket, somehow finding his voice, "Thank you…?"

The woman hummed and held out her left hand. Bucky wondered if offering that hand had been because she was left handed or because she'd noticed his arm. Either way, he appreciated it.

"Natasha," The woman's lips quirked as she squeezed his hand and let go.

"And?" He looked over at the man, offering the same hand.

"Clint. And you are?" The blond smiled, light shining in his eyes.

"Bucky. Well, James, but no one calls me James. My middle…uh, my middle name is Buchanan and I'm now realising that doesn't exactly shorten to Bucky but yeah…Bucky." Could he just fucking die right then and there? How fucking awkward did he have to act? He could have been swallowed into a pit right then and there and he would have welcomed it .

Natasha grinned at him and Clint pulled a face that Bucky realised was probably him trying not to laugh. Fucking hell.

"Well, Bucky, it was nice to meet you." Clint smiled, dimples in his cheeks.

"You too, thanks for the number." Bucky kept his gaze on the blond for just a second more before ducking his head, walking in through the sliding doors, calling Bear to follow.

Good one, Barnes, fucking good one.

…

The doctor's trip had not been exactly fruitful; he wasn't going to offer a different pain medication until Bucky had stuck with the current one for a little longer. Didn't matter that it wasn't fucking working and if it wasn't working by now, it probably never would. Not only that, but Bucky had just been...not sleeping at all and yeah, he understood why he wasn't allowed to be given any more sleeping meds for the time being, but it didn't make it any easier. Sure, maybe he was addicted, but was it really addiction if he had nightmares and flashbacks so vivid that he would stay awake for days and days, manic and hyper and unable to close his eyes for just a moment and the pills actually helped him get some sleep, some semblance of a normal life?

One plus was that he'd been given an anti-depressant. He wasn't sure he would take it but having the script was a relief. It was there if he wanted it, if he needed it and that settled something deep inside him.

He'd gone straight home after the appointment, dejected and in pain and feeling like the world was closing in on him. Bear had grumbled when they passed the park and didn't go in but Bucky needed to get home before he freaked the fuck out right in the middle of the street.

He almost made it home. Almost.

The panic really set in as he reached the street the apartment was on. Stumbling, he almost dropped to his knees, breathing ragged and frantic, hand curled into a fist around the lead as his prosthetic reached for the nearest wall for support. He dropped his forehead against the brick as he spiralled.

Instead of the cool breeze of New York, hot air and sand blasted at his face. Instead of children's laughter from the nearby park or the sounds of people walking up and down the street, shouts and screams filled his consciousness, an explosion deafening and knocking him to the pavement. The lead slipped from his grasp, hands coming up to cover his ears, as though that would stop the sounds, but they were in his head and they only got louder. Pain like nothing he'd ever known ripped through his left arm, leaving Bucky gasping and shuddering and dry heaving on the ground. Something wet touched his face and he instantly recoiled, but whatever it was chased his movements. The wet thing touched his cheek, his neck, his eyelids.

Yipping at his ear slowly, slowly brought him back to the present. Bear was almost on his chest, barking and whining, licking at any part of skin he could reach.

Bucky whimpered low in his throat, chest heaving and every part of him shaking as he wrapped his arms around Bear, pulling him close and burying his face against the soft fur. "Good boy ," He whispered, "such a good boy, ain't ya?"

Bear whined softly, butting at his shoulder, nipping at his face.

"I know," Bucky murmured hoarsely, "I know, I'm getting up." He somehow managed to clamber onto his knees, legs shaking so badly he thought he'd just have to pitch a tent and live out there on the street. Eventually, he managed to get one foot firmly planted, using the wall to pull himself up.

He'd never seen Bear so obedient, trotting along after him even though Bucky wasn't holding the lead. If the dog could be that useful when he freaked out, maybe Steve had been right, the dog was a good fit.

Thank god too, 'cause he'd actually started to love the mischievous little furball.

"Let's get you a treat, huh?" He spoke to the dog as he fumbled with his keys and entered the apartment.

Bear barked happily, winding around his legs. "I swear if you make me fall, dog." Bucky hummed, but leaned down to rub at the good boy's little head.

He grabbed the treat bag and flopped heavily down onto the sofa. Holding out his hand, a good few treats in his palm, he let the dog go at it, snorting softly and pulling a face at the slobber covering his fingers.

Smiling, Bucky wiped off his hand and dug around in his pocket for the piece of paper handed to him by the spectacularly beautiful redhead.

Looking from the dog's mournful gaze now that the treats were gone, and back to the number, he hesitated for a few minutes before sliding his phone open. "Worth a try, I guess." He sighed. Besides if it all went spectacularly wrong, he could just buy a shit ton of chips and crash out on the sofa with a bad movie. Bear was still a companion, even if he was never going to be particularly helpful.

But if it did go well, there was a chance he'd get to see Clint and Natasha again, and that was worth the anxiety of meeting with the dog trainer.

Those smiles and pretty faces could make a man do a lot of things.


	7. random encounters and bad times

More new characters, I really hope you like what I did with them too.

TW: mentions of a suicide attempt, general mental health and ptsd mentions

The only army support group I know anything about is the one from One Day at a Time, so I don't have a whole lot to go on. I don't want to offend anybody so if I say something wrong please please please message me and we can work together on those pieces. Also, I wanted the characters here, specifically Bucky and Rhodey, to not suddenly be abled in this fic, I wanted to give them a past that was similar to that of the MCU. However, despite trying my best, whilst I have what Nat does, I do not deal with anything Bucky and Rhodey do and as such, am trying my best to portray them accurately. Like with the army thing, I don't mean to offend anyone so if I accidentally am, please let me now. And also like with the army thing, if there is someone out there who would like to collaborate and help me make this as accurate and true to life as possible, please message me.

/ / / /

6 days earlier

The next few days dragged and dragged and dragged as Bucky waited for his weekly group to roll around.

He'd had a message from the dog trainer, Wanda, and their first session was in five days. He was both nervous and excited for it. Bucky was pretty sure he'd be kinda good at training, if only he knew what to do. If the army had taught him anything, it was that teamwork and a reliable leader were very important.

Clipping Bear's lead onto the bright red collar, Bucky stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The weekly meetings were the only regular thing in his life and he actually looked forward to them at this point. Human contact, people who understood, who got him. The chance to talk about the shit storm in his head with people who wouldn't think he was bat-shit or needed to be locked up. He needed the meetings, he'd come to realize, or he would really be struggling even more than he was.

Riley hadn't been there for a couple of weeks, he'd been taking a break whilst he got his meds sorted out, but he messaged fairly regularly and had told Bucky that he was doing better with the upped dose. He might be there today, but even if he wasn't, Sam would be and it would be nice to see him.

Bucky took the bus this time, since it was a bit of a longer walk. He always got stares on public transport and even though he constantly wore long sleeves, people could see and they treated him differently for it. He'd pretty much gotten over the looks. If people were wary of him, then they were less likely to pet Bear, which was important when he would be training soon. If people asked, that was fine, it could be controlled petting, but random people crowding him and stroking him without permission was too much.

A little girl with her mother sat watching Bucky and Bear for most of the ten minute journey. The girl had a sleeping puppy across her lap and was absently petting it as she watched Bear wind his way around Bucky's feet. The girl's stop was before Bucky's and as she carefully moved down the steps, he couldn't help but notice that she was limping. As she passed him, she waved her hand and beamed at Bear who yipped and pulled at his lead, desperate for the pets he was obviously denied in his everyday life. "Sorry," Bucky shook his head, "he's excitable."

The girl grinned. "'S okay, he's a good dog, huh?" Her hand hovered at her side, her own dogs lead wrapped carefully around her palm.

"You can pet him if you like." Bucky smiled.

The little girl immediately dropped her hand to Bear's head, stroking over the silky fur. "He's so soft," she marveled, "hi Bear, you're so cute, yes you are."

"I like your puppy, he's adorable, ain't he?" Bucky hummed, meeting the eyes of the girl's mother, smiling almost sadly behind the girl.

The bus seemed stuck in traffic, though Bucky didn't mind this time, it gave them a chance for the moment that was going on.

"Mommy got him for me, he's still a baby. He's called Steve ." The girl grinned.

Bucky was barely able to suppress a laugh at that and holy shit he couldn't wait to tell Stevie about that, if he could stop laughing for long enough to get the words out, that was.

"Steve is a great name." Bucky nodded, grinning. He sighed softly as the bus pulled up at the girl's stop. It was rare to have such a nice time when he left the house.

"Aw. Bye Bear," The girl pouted, waving her fingers first at Bear and then Bucky, "Thank you, mister." She smiled sweetly, heading the rest of the way down the bus. She stopped just at the doors, grinning over at Bucky. She pointed at his arm and then down at her leg, which Bucky finally realised was a prosthetic too. "Samesies," She giggled and hopped onto the sidewalk .

The bus pulled away and Bucky silently sat for the rest of the drive as he went over and over the interaction in his head.

Damn.

…

When Bucky got to the VA, he headed straight for the drinks table, pouring a cup of coffee for himself and placing a bowl of water on the floor for Bear. The VA had loads of bowls and treats, since quite a few of those that came for the meetings had service dogs.

Once Bear had lapped up a good amount of the water, Bucky headed over to his usual chair, slumping down and absently sipping at his coffee as he looked around the room.

He was fairly early and there were only a couple of people hanging around, drinking their own drinks or talking quietly to one another. Rhodey was already there, chatting up a pretty blonde woman Bucky'd never seen before. She seemed to only be politely listening and humming quietly when he spoke.

Sam hadn't arrived yet and he still wasn't sure if Riley was going to make it. It was starting to look like it would be quite a small meeting since he knew Montgomery and Jim had shipped back out to service and Gabe was having a rough time of it. DumDum was nowhere to be seen, but he often missed weeks at a time, so Bucky wasn't worrying.

As time passed, a couple more people filtered in, a man and a woman, both new too. The man looked skittish, continuously running his fingers through his black hair. As his hand caught the light, Bucky could see that the knuckles were split open and congealed with dried blood, bruises littering the tan skin.

Ouch

Yeah, Bucky knew too well how much of a bitch split knuckles were.

The man had his other hand tangled in the woman's fingers as his gaze cast around the room, eyes lingering on every single exit, every single person milling around, scanning said people for anything hidden under their clothes, for any hint that someone was about to attack or that there was something planted they should be running from.

Bucky could tell that the man was fairly fresh from service. He had that vibrating, tumultuous energy to him, the one where he was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Compared to him, the dark haired woman seemed completely calm and composed on the outside but anybody who understood could see the pain in her eyes, the tight curl of her lips, the way she gripped the man's hand just as fiercely.

She leaned up to whisper in the man's ear, fingers lightly carding through his hair. After a moment, he nodded, allowing the woman to pull him over to two empty seats.

Just as they sat, Sam came rushing in through the doors, bag slung over his shoulder. "Sorry, sorry! Car broke down again."

Bucky was a little disappointed to see that Riley wasn't with him and he hoped that the other man was okay.

"Okay," Sam shrugged off his jacket and took his seat at the head of the circle, "I see we've got some new faces today. How 'bout we start off with going around and saying names and then whoever wants to talk can have the floor. I'm Sam, I'm the group leader and I've been working here for the past two years."

Next in the circle, Rhodey gave a mock salute. "I'm James, except everyone calls me Rhodey. I've been out of service for a year."

"Also James, 'cept everyone calls me Bucky. Thank God for nicknames, huh, way too many James'. This is Bear, he's very friendly." Bucky rested a hand on the dogs head, smiling softly.

Beside Bucky, the blonde woman Rhodey had been chatting up looked up from her hands. "Sharon." She said quietly.

Bucky narrowed his eyes a little. The name was familiar, though he couldn't quite pinpoint where he knew it from. She looked just a little similar to someone he knew, though he also couldn't figure out who. His brain felt scrambled that morning.

The other two new people in the circle exchanged glances with one another. The woman spoke, "I'm Sky...Daisy, this is Grant."

The man, Grant, hadn't looked up at any of the people, though his gaze kept flitting up to the exits and then back to his and Daisy's joined hands.

"Welcome to the group, guys." Sam said kindly, looking around at the circle. "Does anyone want to get us started?"

Everyone was quiet for a few moments and when it seemed like none of the newbies were going to start, Rhodey piped up. "Is the weather playing havoc with anyone else?" He fiddled with the brake of his wheelchair, grinning, "because I am hurting like a bitch today."

Rhodey, by another twist of fate, knew Tony too. They'd been friends since college and he was the reason, in fact, that Tony had branched out into prosthetics and other such ventures. The scientist/actual genius was coming up with something new for Rhodey, something that didn't cause pain after wearing it for a while, something that would help him walk again, with as little pain as possible. For now, Rhodes was taking a break from the braces and using his chair in the meantime.

Bucky hummed, nodding his head. "My shoulder is driving me crazy. The cold weather always gets to me."

"Right? It's like I can tell a day in advance if the weather's going to turn, I'm like a walking weather report, I could put that guy on the news out of a job like that." He snapped his fingers. "Snow's coming, pain, storm is coming, pain, it's actually going to be sunny out, slightly less pain but still damn pain." He shook his head. "It's BS, if you ask me."

Bucky chuckled, "for sure."

Sam's phone rang then and he groaned softly. "Excuse me guys, sorry." He stood and quickly headed towards the back of the room.

After a beat, Sharon began to quietly chime in about her own experience with weather, particularly about storms and how she began to panic even before it hit, like she knew it was coming.

Bucky hummed and nodded in agreement, though his eyes strayed to Sam, whose back was ram-rod straight, a hand covering his eyes as he spoke in hushed whispers into the phone.

Bucky's stomach twisted uncomfortably as Sam looked over his shoulder. He pressed the phone to his chest for a second. "Buck, can I borrow you for a minute?"

He was immediately pushing back his seat and excusing himself from the circle, moving quickly towards Sam. "What happened?"

Sam looked back at the circle and Sharon talking before meeting Bucky's gaze. His jaw was clenched, his eyes shining. "It's…"

Ice filled Bucky's veins, "who?" he half choked out, hand curling into a fist at his side.

"Gabe." Sam exhaled shakily, rubbing at his forehead. "Riley went over to check on him because he wasn't answering calls and…"

Bucky couldn't breathe. "Is he…is he…?" He couldn't get the word out.

"Barely," Sam murmured, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, "Riley got there just in time, kicked the door down , called the ambulance, put pressure on…" He trailed off, just shaking his head once more.

Having the very sudden urge to slam his fist through the nearest wall, Bucky struggled to take a measured breath. After a very measured breath, he stepped over to Sam, squeezing the man's shoulder . "You should go meet Riley at the hospital, I can take over here."

"Are you sure, man? You're up to this?" Sam asked quietly.

"They need this." Bucky nodded.

I need this.

Bucky looked over at the four others sitting in the circle, "this only comes 'round once a week, y'know? I know I've been waiting for days for group and those new guys, we can't just send them away and expect 'em to come back next time." His gaze had hardened into something determined and he nodded, despite the ache in his chest and the screaming thoughts in his head.

"You're a good man, Barnes." Sam nodded, "I'll call as soon as I hear anything, you'll let Rhodey know?"

"Course, I'll wait until group's finished and pull him aside." Bucky thought that maybe it would be a good idea for him and Rhodey to go out somewhere after, a café or something. Neither of them should be going home to empty apartments after news like that. Self-care and all that shit.

"Okay, take care of yourself. I'll call." As he moved past Bucky to grab his things from his chair, Sam patted his shoulder.

Once Sam was out of sight, Bucky took a moment to compose himself. He drank a cup of water and pulled in a few breaths before schooling his features and heading back to his chair. He sat and Bear immediately lay straight over his feet. He was really started to love the dumb dog, calming just a little as he stroked through soft fur.

Rhodey met his gaze and Bucky shook his head once, needing no words to tell him later.

"So," Bucky sat forward in his chair, "who wants to go next?"


End file.
